


Your Wings are the Most Beautiful (to me, anyway)

by thayde



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, M/M, Malex, Synesthesia, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:05:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thayde/pseuds/thayde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a known fact that all higher angels have wings, and that the feathers are always black. Just ask anyone.  </p><p>Alex has seen many higher angels in his life. None of them had black wings.</p><p> </p><p>Many thanks to Callay and Zuq for their beta skills!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Wings are the Most Beautiful (to me, anyway)

Alex doesn’t realize how differently he sees the world until he’s sixteen years old. 

When Alex first meets the Archangel Michael, he’s young, street-scarred, and fresh off the V1 track. Next to him in line is Ethan Mack, another smart-mouthed gutter rat, who is just as jittery as he is. It’s their induction into the AACorps, and, contrary to popular theory, it really _does_ mean signing your life over to another. After a brief speech emphasizing this little fact, Michael walks down the line of his newly-minted recruits to inspect what he has to work with for the foreseeable future.

Alex thinks that Michael may have slowed his stride when the archangel reaches him, but brushes the thought aside as ridiculous. 

Once Michael has passed his position, both he and Ethan lean forward to watch his retreating back. Never having seen wings before, Alex is transfixed at the sight. They are breathtaking, and he doubts he will ever see anything more beautiful for the rest of his life. 

Michaels feathers are creamy along the top arches, and are so sheer as to be translucent. The color shifts from that lovely eggshell to a smokey grey, top to bottom. Alex can make out the shapes in the background through the archangel’s wings, as though a distorted gradient has been overlaid upon reality. 

He is ethereal and lives up to the legend.

As soon as they’re dismissed, Ethan is happily chattering away at Alex a mile a minute. 

“Man, did you get a look at those wings?! They’re even bigger than I thought they’d be! I’m surprised he had em’ out inside the building.”

Alex shrugged, and grinned at his friend. “Probably for the wow-factor. I honestly don’t remember anything he said, but I’ll never forget the sight. They were more impressive than I’d imagined.”

“Definitely. Though I’m surprised his wings are black.” 

Eyebrows drawn together, Alex asks, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, all the paintings show angels with fluffy white wings. I guess I was expecting something along those lines. Still, black wings are pretty intimidating.” 

“…Yeah, I guess.” Alex pulls himself together, and slaps Ethan’s shoulder. “Race you to the showers!” 

They run through the stark hallways of the barracks, and Alex makes a mental note to avoid talking about Michael’s wings. There wasn’t a single black feather in sight.

———

Over the course of their training, Alex sees Michael’s wings on many occasions and, on all of those times, he remains amazed at their beauty. Each time he sees them, something inside of him feels weightless, and pleasantly curled. But still, he never sees them as everyone else describes. In various conversations, he’s heard Ethan, and Noma, every one of his bunkmates, and his commanding officers all reference Michael’s wings as black. Even _Michael himself_ has stated that all higher angels had wings, and each and every feather would always be pitch black.

No exceptions.

Alex may not understand it, but he’s not dumb enough to talk about it. He never tells anyone. Not Noma, or even Ethan. He never tells anyone.

No exceptions.

———

Those wings become something of an obsession. Alex can’t stop staring, can’t stop dreaming. He tries to draw Michael and _those wings_ just to get them out of his head, but it’s not the same. Nothing he puts to paper can even compare to reality, regardless of how good Alex gets over the years.

No art can seem to capture him. No art can contain him.

And between meeting Michael, and training under Michael, and dreaming about Michael, Alex falls into something resembling love. At least, as close as Alex can figure, considering how little he knows the archangel. 

———

The first time Alex sees a pair of wings attached to a back other than Michael’s is during an unlucky day of scavenging. He’s snuck out of Vega with a jeep to collect whatever he can find that would help some of Vega’s orphans. Alex always had a soft spot for children.

In some dark and dilapidated building, he comes across three eight balls playing _cards_ of all things. He only has a moment to wonder at how completely random that is before they chase him back down the strip. 

Alex manages to lose two of them, but he can’t seem to shake the last one. It might have something to do with the man sprouting wings to fly after him. 

As soon as the wings blossom from the eight ball’s shoulder blades, Alex feels his stomach twist at how _sick_ they look. The wings are a forest green, and Alex thinks they may have been pretty if not for the grayish yellow veins in each feather. Like the color of pus. 

He can feel the wrongness squirm inside of his stomach like a pile of worms.

It’s all Alex can do to keep the jeep on the road, and he’s never been happier to see the city walls. And as much of a relief as it is to escape the sick feeling induced by those disturbing wings, he’s a little sad for the loss. It’s almost like he can just _tell_ that they were beautiful, once upon a time. But were now twisted, and ruined.

He falls bonelessly out of the vehicle once he’s behind the closed doors. Doesn’t fight when they haul his ass to interrogation. He does raise his hackles to Senior Officer John, for no other reason than that the man is total dick to Ethan. 

Eventually, Michael gets involved. Alex is grateful that the wings are stowed away. He’s not sure he can handle them right now. He almost caves and tells Michael about the weirdness he’s experiencing—after all, this is a second, unrelated case, so he’s not crazy, probably—but doesn’t quite find the words. Just skirts by the color coding issue, and tries not to be pleased when Michael says he’s not allowed to leave the city like everyone else. Like he’s _Michael’s_ , or something.

Alex holds on to those words during his punishment.

He sleeps on his side that night, and tries to keep his thoughts from wandering towards diseased wings and the sick feelings they bring.

———

His father comes back, and everything he’s known about his life becomes a lie. Michael has kept his father a secret. His father has kept _himself_ a secret. And the two of them kept from him the biggest secret of all.

Blue lines and swirls and slashes and curves bleed into him, and make themselves at home beneath his skin. This transaction of death, and the picture of his mother, is the only inheritance left to him.

When Claire kneels before him, he wants to scream at her. When Michael kneels, his heart nearly stops.

“He is under _my_ protection”, hangs heavy in the room. Despite how angry Alex is with the archangel, it still makes his cheeks flush. 

Later, in Michael’s nest, he’s asked to read the markings on his flesh. Alex pulls his shirt over his head, and when he looks upon himself he wants to curse in frustration. The swirls of ink are no longer cyan, but glaring red mixed in with lines of bruised violet. Colors of turmoil and fear-induced anger. 

He stares at Michael, silent in his uncertainty. Except, Michael doesn’t mention this change. In fact, throughout their conversation about the fate of humanity, and Gabriel’s dark army, and mystical fucking tattoos, Michael never once hints that something is wrong. 

For the life of him, Alex can’t tell if it’s normal for the marks to change themselves, or if this is another angel wing thing. He doesn’t know what to think about _any_ of this.

Maybe he really is losing his mind.

———

The third set of wings he ever sees belongs to the sleeper agent posing as a maid for house Reisen. She presents herself with an aggressive stance in the darkened hallway, and her wings burst forth in one violent movement. All Alex can do for several long moments is stand there and stare.

Her wings are _pink_. 

Needless to say, she knocks him on his ass, and their fight ends up traveling from room to room. As much as Alex hates to admit it, he almost felt bad for her when she opened her wings again in the kitchen. He’s holding the lighter, and preparing to fight fire with fire. And that hot fuchsia color keeps waking a desperate feeling in the back of his throat. It’s a longing, a desire for approval, to prove oneself, for something more. 

Alex swallows it down, and tosses the zippo. Defenestrates her, and watches her fly away, wings aflame. 

He hates her guts for what she did to Bixby, yet still he feels a shadow of that desperation when he pictures her feathers. 

There’s a pattern emerging, and _he doesn’t like it_.

———

He runs. Alex runs as far and fast as he can. Of course, he doesn’t get far before Michael hunts him down. He’s freaking out, and in his frenzy he draws a gun on Michael. To be honest, he’s not even sure _why_ he does it. It’s just…this all started the day he met Michael, and saw _those wings_ , and everything just fucking spiraled from there. It’s not logic.

And of course, where else would Michael take him but to the site of his mother’s death. As if that could ameliorate the situation. He’s not ready for any of this. 

They share an honest-to-god conversation as equals for the first time in their lives. Alex is unafraid of being punished for insubordination, and Michael is honest with him. In fact, the archangel seems prepared to lay his cards on the table, until the untimely arrival of Wings Four, as Alex will later dub Furiad.

Alex is, as usual, distracted by the shimmering feathers, because flashing beneath Furiad’s red armor are feathers of shining, _brilliant_ gold. Settling in the vertebrae of his spine is an abstract impression of ‘solid’. Those gold feathers evoke a sense of honor, of responsibility, of a desire to serve and serve _well_. 

Alex is abruptly jerked from his stupor as Wings Five and Wings Six descend upon him, and he’s fortunate beyond words that their wings are stowed away soon after. He catches a glimpse of sky blue and pale orange, both colors marred by the pus yellow in the feather veins, and it all makes his insides turn in disgust. 

His own fight for his life distracts Michael, and the archangel pays for his mistake. Alex barely manages to kill his own assailants, both in relief and sadness. Furiad mumbles some angelic garbage before he retreats in a blaze of gold so bright Alex cannot see his form clearly.

Alex drops down by Michael’s side, and knows true fear. He begs Michael to hold on, asks him what to do to make him better. The only response he can get out of him is to leave the blade in, and Alex’s name on his lips. 

When Michael’s eyes close, Alex presses a desperate kiss to the archangel’s lips, and races against the clock back to Vega. He can see the markings on his wrists as he drives. The color alternates between a desperate fuchsia and hopeless grey.

———

He’s thrown into a stinking prison for desertion. The only reason Alex is released is because Claire is an avid believer in that Saviorism bullshit, and wants to protect the Chosen One. As well as he and Claire get on, he’s doesn’t delude himself into thinking she got him out for friendship alone. And then he finds out that Michael is well and alive. 

And that he’s left Alex there to rot. 

His markings have turned a dirty shade of blue-green.

———

Alex and Michael reach another truce. There are moments when he catches Michael staring, and Alex braces himself for a question about the kiss, but it never comes. Eventually, he writes it off as Michael having no memory of it.

He has no idea how he feels about that.

Either way, today finds them training in the desert at high noon. Michael is doing his best to teach Alex to defend himself from an aerial attack, and is utterly failing. It’s not that Alex doesn’t get the point—it’s obvious that he’s supposed to track the shadow. 

The problem is that Alex can’t see a fucking shadow.

As best as Alex can figure it, Michael’s wings are translucent enough to reduce the shadow normally cast by such a large wingspan. He can’t really get a lead on Michael until he’s close enough to form a human-sized shadow, and by then it’s far too late to get in a good shot.

Alex can tell Michael is incredibly frustrated when he lands. He wouldn’t even guess Michael’s wings were out if not for the rush of air from the flapping motion. When the archangel gets close enough, though…the sunlight is bent through the feathers, creating a soft and hazy halo around Michael’s person. His feathers are aglow, and seem barely there—like the subtle song of a wind-chime that’s been stolen away on the breeze. 

That lovely, curling sensation in his chest is back. Like he’s falling, but without a stomach lurch. And Alex can’t stop staring. 

Until Michael opens his mouth and says the only words certain to piss Alex off beyond reason. “You failed.” 

And _fuck that_. From there on out, it’s an argument like they’ve never had before. Michael verbally strikes at him from every angle he can, and Alex tries to stay calm. But he’s still a hothead, even on the best of days. 

“Look there.” Michael points to their shadows on the ground. “If you weren’t so busy staring into the sun, you could have tracked my shadow for any number of counter maneuvers.” 

Alex looks to the ground, and sees only the shadows of two men. Looks back to Michael’s wings, and back to the ground. There’s hardly a shadow at all. 

“I _know_ that, Michael! I did figure that trick out from the last attack, I’m not stupid!”

Michael takes hold of the edges of his coat, and spreads it open to reveal his unripped shirt. “Then how do you explain this?” 

His frustration puts an end to his patience, and he blurts out, “Because it’s you! Had you been any other angel, I would have had you dead to rights!” The second the words leave his mouth, Alex freezes.

Eyebrows drawn together, the archangel is laden with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?” 

Alex licks his lips, and searches the horizon with his gaze. “I mean…what do you expect? You gave me live ammo. I went easy on you.” Snapping the safety on, he returns his service pistol to the holster on his hip. Michael stares at him, wordlessly. Without something to do with his hands, Alex starts to fidget nervously. He wets his lips again, shifts his weight from side to side, and rubs his hands together to distract himself. 

Finally, Michael breaks the silence again. “That’s not it. What are you hiding, Alex? If we are to succeed, there can be no secrets between us.”

In that second, Alex decides to throw caution to the wind. Partly because he doesn’t like Michael thinking of him as a failure, but also because he’s tired of hiding. Tired of wondering just how crazy he is. “These counter methods don’t work with you because your wings don’t cast as shadow.” 

Michael gives him the same ‘what the fuck’ look from the time Alex reported that three eight balls, playing Texas hold ‘em, had all walked into a bar. So Alex does his best to explain. “Everybody says your wings are black. _You’ve_ said all angel wings are black. Right?”

Michael nods slowly, listening intently. “I did. And it’s true.”

Alex lets out a desperate sigh. “Michael, I’ve seen a total of six angels, and none of their wings were black.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Michael tells him to explain. So, Alex does. They sit on the ground under the hot sun, and Alex gets it all off his chest. It’s a relief, really, to finally _talk_ about it. He describes the feeling he gets from certain colors, and describes each angel wingspan as best as he can recall. 

Except, of course, for Michael’s wings.

Alex doesn’t offer up the information. He wants to see if Michael will ask him, and for a moment, it looks like he might. 

The moment passes.

———

He wants to lay down and die right next to Bixby. 

His markings turn black before his eyes. 

He gets it now.

———

Alex wants to learn how to exorcise spirits. It could be a useful skill, but mainly, he wants to give Claire her mom back as thanks for everything she’s done for him lately. Which means he gets to meet Uriel. 

Uriel is…interesting. He can’t quite get a handle on her. The color of her wings is the closest to black he’s seen to date. Alex has to look twice, but her ‘black’ feathers reflect a silver and purple pearlescent sheen, and when the light strikes at just the right angle, the veins of her feathers glow like the moon. Lovely and cold, but for those few streaks of royal purple. 

The abstract impression accompanying the view is a tightly-wound coil of mischief hidden under the corner of his mouth, but with a metallic edge of cruelty—as if a silver blade was pressed against his bottom lip. Uriel, he decides, is a lot like licking copper.

She touches him. He doesn’t _like_ her touching him, or touching his marks. Wherever her fingertips stray, the strands of color (now an electric green) slither away, leaving unmarked flesh in their wake. The lines never actually allow her contact. 

Neither Uriel nor Michael seem to notice. 

They do notice when he gains an extra ten lines of gibberish that spiral down his right arm like a snake. Words travel onto the blank pages of the Apocrypha, and they are written in glaring orange and yellow, like a warning.

He ignores it.

———

Wings Eight, Wings Nine, and Wings Ten are enough to make him weep. Someone has killed three higher angels and strung them up in the city by meat hooks. Their strong bones protruding from their shoulder blades are broken and stripped bare, and hang limply at sickening angles that shouldn’t be possible. This is the first time Alex sees angel wings like the rest of the world.

All three wingspans are matte black.

The crowds held behind the barricades are cheering, and Alex doesn’t understand why. He recognizes the medic, who treated Bixby with kindness. Wishes desperately he could have know what color his wings would have been in life. Maybe something rich, like an emerald green for growth, or the wedgewood blue of a healer. Perhaps both?

Ethan’s words break his heart. And then Michael nearly breaks his back with the force he uses to shove Alex against a wall. Accuses him of taking those angels’ colors away. It’s like a knife in his heart. 

They stare at each other, Michael’s arm pressed across his chest, and the air between them is electric. Alex sees his pain reflected in Michael a hundredfold, and his soul aches for him. He settles his hand on Michael’s cheek, and strokes his thumb along the archangel’s skin. “I’m sorry for your loss” he whispers, and Michael _keens_. 

Presses his face against Alex’s hand for a moment, exhaling. Alex feels, briefly, like a lion tamer. 

Alex pushes himself forward and Michael lets him, relaxing his arm. Tilting his head, Alex leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Michael’s lips. The archangel cradles Alex’s head, and pulls him closer. Alex can taste the sadness on his lips.

A surge in the crowd’s loud voices breaks the moment, and Michael steps back to break their kiss. Keeps his hand on Alex’s neck. “That day, when I fought with Furiad—“

“I kissed you then, too. Yeah.”

A corner of Michael’s lips tilt up into a half-smile, and his eyes do that crinkle thing when he actually means it. This moment can’t last much longer, despite what they might want. Reality forces its way back between them soon enough, and Michael gives him a task. 

He sends Alex to warn Louis.

———

Louis seems off. He’s weirdly attentive in the apartment, and just…well he isn’t quite what Alex expected. Alex can vaguely remember a nice guy who always gave him a good deal on peaches. Louis also gave any leftover stock to the V1 orphans, so not a bad guy at all.

Which is the only reason he agreed to meet Louis, alone, in the archangel’s nest. 

He certainly didn’t expect Noma to show up, and is terrified when Louis throws her out of the building. Alex doesn’t even hesitate to pull the trigger and shoot him, and can do nothing but watch his friend fall to her death. Except…she doesn’t fall very far.

A riot of color blooms from Noma’s shoulders and reveals her for what she truly is. From his vantage point, he gets a complete image of the entirety of her wingspan, and it’s utterly amazing. Alex completely forgets about the angel he just shot, because Noma’s feathers are like those of a parrot. Brilliant greens, blues, yellows, oranges, and reds show her playful and bright personality. 

The knee-jerk instinct to call ‘betrayal’ washes away in the wake of those colorful wings. He’s oddly okay with this. Hopes they can meet again soon.

He braces himself for the fight to come, and turns to face Louis. 

———

The bodies of dead angels have been laid out in a warehouse, and again, Alex is sick to see so many black feathers and yet feel no abstract thoughtform welling up inside. They foolishly tried to flee the city and were gunned down. 

He’s lost count of how many wingspans he’s seen. 

Michael is wound up tighter than a spring, and the only answer he will give about The Flood is “don’t listen to my brother.” Which is less than informative.

The markings on Alex’s arms are a dark smoky grey, with yellow wisps woven along the lines.

———

Alex doesn’t sleep that night. He rolls over in his bed a thousand times, turning the day’s conversation with Michael over in a head. Looks at it from every angle he can think of. His conclusion leads him to climb over a thousand steps just to pound on the archangel’s door.

It takes a moment for Michael to answer, but he does open the door eventually. Alex opens his mouth to start their argument back up, but his vocal cords constrict upon seeing the archangel. Michael is dressed in nothing but a thin pair of sleep pants, and a long expanse of pale skin is on display. It takes the angel’s signature eyebrow hitch to shake Alex out of his stupor.

He snaps his open mouth shut, and pushes past Michael to invade the nest. Turns sharply on his heels to face the archangel once the door is shut behind them. “You were correct when you said that is isn’t about angel versus human. It’s about doing the right thing. But that’s the _only_ part you got right.” 

Michael opens his mouth to retort, his expression a veritable brick wall, but Alex raises his hand to prevent his words. “Look, you keep losing your temper at me because you think I don’t trust you. It’s actually the complete opposite. _You_ don’t trust _me_. You’ve lied from the beginning, and you’re still lying to me now.”

Expression cool, Michael gives the expected reply. “I never lied. You simply didn’t need to know.” 

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. “Withholding is a lie of omission. I’d be beaten bloody if I tried to pull that shit with my C.O., and you’re the one who made that rule to begin with!” Michael looks like he’s going to interject, but again, Alex keeps right on talking. If he doesn’t get this out in the open now, he’ll never say it. “Even so, I can see where you would make that sort of tactical decision. Even ignoring the whole Noma-is-really-a-higher-angel thing, you don’t trust me enough to question you.” 

Michael looks curious now, and gestures for him to continue. “I get it. You don’t want to tell me about The Flood, or any of the other questionable things Gabriel said that night. You think I’ll turn away. But what you don’t get is that...I know people do things they regret, and I know that people can change. So even if everything Gabriel said is true, I still believe in you.” 

With every stumbling sentence he speaks, Michael’s eyes grow warmer, and the corners of his mouth curl upwards. “Do you indeed, Alex?” 

His cheeks burn in embarrassment, but Alex pushes forward. “Yeah. But you don’t trust me enough to let me ask questions. You’re more afraid of the answer than I am, Michael, and if this is going to work, we need to trust each other from here on out.” Michael stares at him, the soft look still adorning his handsome features. The silence between them stretches, and Alex starts to feel awkward. “And...that’s all I came to say.”

For a second, Michael looks like he might actually laugh. “You may be correct, Alex.” He turns away, and walks to a small end table hidden amongst the gauzey wall hangings. Lifts up an elegant glass pitcher of water, and pours Alex a cup. He uses his foot to drag over a small padded stool, gestures for Alex to sit, and hands him the glass. “I don’t want this to remain between us, so let’s clear all worries here and now. You may ask me anything, if you allow me the time to explain any answer I give you.”

Alex slowly sits on the proffered seat, and nods his head. Michael moves to sit on the massive bed to face Alex as they talk. The next hour is spent delving into Michael’s past, present, and what he wants for the future. Alex never thought he’d actually get to know Michael, but here he sits listening to him expose the best and worst of himself. Alex is careful to offer up stories about himself in exchange, and it makes Michael smile. The archangel tells about his days of slaughtering masses of men, women, and children, so Alex, in turn, whispers about his many sins committed as a V1. Michael relaxes when Alex doesn’t run screaming from the room, and tells him about his change of heart. How Alex is his redemption. In return, Alex tells him about trying to help the V1 orphans to make up for his own wrongdoings. “Maybe we can redeem each other.”

Michael actually chuckles at the words, and unfurls his wings. He stretches them out as far as they’ll reach, and flexes his head from one side to the other. Alex can hear the many bones popping from where he sits, and his eyes are riveted to the sight. The archangel releases a sigh, once he’s flexed each joint, and relaxes his wings against the red and gold coverlets. Looks back over to Alex, and catches his eyes. Stares for a moment. “What is it that you see? When you look at my wings, I mean.” 

Alex takes a moment, and lets his eyes wander over the feathers. The red and gold of the bedsheets make Michael’s wings look to be gold-leafed. The candles make each soft downy wisp glow softly. He imagines what Michael would look like if he folded his wings in front of him. An exotic dancer, he thinks, from Helena--dancing with a sheer veil. 

He meets Michael’s eyes again, and tries to describe it without sounding like a lunatic. “Your wings...are the most breathtaking of all.” The archangel leans forward, intent clear in his eyes. “They’re like...you know how freshly-brewed tea--the good stuff--has that curling steam from the heat, and it smells like a neverending spiral...and if you put your face really close to the surface, you can feel the waves and crests of warm air rising.” Michael pushes himself up from the bed, and steps closer to tower over Alex’s sitting form. Alex wets his lips, and continues. “And when you breathe it in, and hold it in your lungs, you can feel the warm, interlocking circles settle inside you. That’s the moment you know. The moment you feel safe, and that everything will be okay.” Michael’s hand is warm against his cheek, and feels so good. “That’s what your wings are like Michael. They’re like warm moonlight. Like--” He never gets to finish his sentence, because Michael’s lips are on his, swallowing down his words like a starving man. Their hands are all over each other after that, and Alex’s clothing is quickly tossed into a pile by some far wall, later joined by Michael’s sleepwear. 

They tumble into bed, where Michael promptly crawls on top of him. There’s a flurry of lips and skin and hot tongues--Michael doesn’t take it slow with Alex, but remains gentle. Each brush of fingers along Alex’s flesh is reverent, as though every inch of him something precious. The archangel is overwhelming, barely letting Alex get a sound out, and drinking down every vowel to pass his lips. 

Michael seems terrified that Alex will leave if he pauses too long.

Alex finally manages to tear his mouth from Michael’s to gasp out, “It’s okay, Michael, I’m right here. I’m _right here_.” Michael nods, and breathes hard against Alex’s neck, where he’s buried his face in the crux of Alex’s shoulder. Alex slides his hand up Michael’s spine, stopping when he reached his shoulderblades. “May I?” he murmurs into Michael’s ear.

“Of course,” is whispered back. And _those wings_ , they’re as soft as Alex always imagined. The moment he runs his fingers through the feathers, the curls in his heart anchor themselves and settle permanently in his chest. He can feel Michael shudder, and a rush of warm breath coasts over his neck. 

Wherever Michael’s hands stray, Alex’s marks swirl and rush forward to meet him. They feel like warm ropes hugging his body, and Alex can see they’ve turned a milky mother-of-pearl, gleaming opalescent against his tan. 

Michael is playful, and sweet, and all-consuming. They rise and fall together amongst the heat of their bodies and burning candles. Later, when Alex moves to vacate the sheets and return to the barracks, Michael slings an arm over his waist and tells Alex in no uncertain terms that he won’t be letting him leave. They curl up together, and Michael slings a wing over Alex for warmth. 

Alex relaxes into Michael’s heat, and idly strokes the feathers as his mind grows fuzzy with slumber. Michael is already heavy and limp from sleep when Alex notices it. At the tip of the wing, the longest feather has changed color. Where it was once a smoky grey, it’s now an extremely pale pink. 

Alex bites his lip as he grins. He can guess what that means.

———

Seeing Noma again is wonderful. Alex and Michael have hatched a plan to draw Gabriel out, and Noma is going to play messenger. He watches her descend from the sky and she is a sight to behold. Noma’s wings are a sun-dappled, colorful array of feathers. Her wings are a radiant rainbow.

She’s a rainbow.

They have precious little time to settle things between them, but Noma accomplishes it just fine by playing the Slap Alex Game. In retaliation, he teases Noma about her sordid history with Furiad. It’s ridiculous, but it’s familiar and much-needed. 

It’s not long before Noma and Furiad are flying off again, and he and Michael lay in wait. 

And they wait.

Gabriel doesn’t come. 

Noma doesn’t come back.

He and Michael are nervous, and tempers boil over. Michael wants to keep moving, and put their backs to the sea in order to regroup. Alex wants to go find Noma. Of course, the archangel stomps all over that plan. 

“It’s far too dangerous, Alex. Walking into Gabriel’s eyrie would be suicide.”

Alex grits his teeth, and bites back a sarcastic remark. He knows it’s true, as much as he hates to admit it. Better to have a plan than to go in guns-a-blazing in some half-assed rescue attempt. “Then let’s go back to Vega. At least we can plan from there.”

Michael scoffs. “The city that now fully believes I am the enemy? I think not.”

Alex tosses his hands into the air. “Well it’s better than running off to unfamiliar territory!”

The archangel turns to look at him, lips a firm line. “And how does stepping backwards get us any closer to our goals? What do you expect? For my brother to walk up to the city gates, prostrate himself upon his knees, and offer up his sword in surrender?”

Alex just rolls his eyes, and starts walking towards their Jeep. Snaps out a flippant, “Yeah, Michael. That’s _exactly_ what I’m expecting to find!”

———

They return to Vega because...honestly, neither he nor Michael have any better idea. Gabriel didn’t show, Furiad’s back with his commander, and Noma’s MIA. So. Back to Vega it is.

Only, Gabriel seems to have beaten them to it. 

They both are ushered to the high-tech prison in which the council, in their infinite wisdom, decided to stash Gabriel for interrogation. Claire is verbally fencing with Gabriel, and Ethan is on duty watching it all with a subtly entertained look. As soon as Ethan catches sight of Alex, he jerks his head as a signal for Alex to _get over here, now_. He approaches Ethan to find out what the hell happened while he was out, Michael hot on his heels.

Once Alex is close enough, Ethan starts whispering. “Dude, you missed all the action! Gabriel’s surrendered, and that fancy vest he’s wearing is ready to electrocute him at the drop of a hat. What kept you, and can you get your hands on some popcorn?”

Michael’s eyebrows scrunch together, “What do you mean by surr--”

Alex interrupts him mid-sentence, because it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. “So you’re telling me that Gabriel just walked up to the gates, got on his knees, and handed over his sword in surrender?” 

Ethan quirks an eyebrow. “Actually...that’s exactly what happened. How’d you know?”

Alex shoots Michael a pointed smirk. “Lucky guess. Gee, Michael, I guess it’s a good thing we came back to Vega, huh?”

Michael’s lips press together in a hard, razor straight line. He looks upwards towards the heavens, as though seeking patience as to not to murder everyone. 

Before the ribbing can continue, Claire speedwalks away from Gabriel’s cage as though the hounds of hell are after her. All three males watch her run out of the room with as much dignity as she can muster. Ethan breaks the silence first. “Huh. I guess that’s a point to Gabriel.”

Michael rolls his eyes, and strides forward to speak to his brother. Alex is only a couple feet behind him. 

As they approach the cage, Gabriel turns to face them. His words come in a slow, dark drawl. “My dear brother, how have you been keeping?” Gabriel’s eyes flick onto Alex. “And you, Alex? I must say, I was _impressed_ with you. Sending your friend to earn my trust...tsk tsk.” 

“Where’s Noma?” Alex does his best to be forceful and confident, but Gabriel’s mocking tone makes it difficult.

“She’s locked up for safe keeping.” Alex opens his mouth, but Gabriel predicts his demand. “She’s unharmed, so fear not.” He points to Michael. “Though I must say, I’m disappointed to find you as close to my brother as ever.”

Michael chooses to join the conversation, spine ramrod straight. “What are you doing here, Gabriel? Why the charade?”

A sinister chuckle erupts from the depths of Gabriel’s chest, and he spreads his arms wide like a stage performer. “Why, I’m here for _you_. Do you know what I’m trying to do, Michael? I’m illuminating you, just as I did several centuries ago.” Turning back to Alex, a conspirator’s smile finds a home on Gabriel’s lips. “Do you think he would have confessed his crimes to you had I not made it necessary? Everyone has lied to you, Alex. They would use you for their own ends--”

“Silence, brother.” Michael’s voice is sharp, but doesn’t deter Gabriel in the least.

“At least _I_ have _never_ lied to you. I own all my mistakes, unlike Michael, and there’s so much I could teach you, if you’ll only listen.” 

Michael takes a threatening step forward, wings instinctively unfurling to intimidate. “There is nothing for you to teach him. Not when you call for the death of his kind.”

Gabriel flat out laughs at that. “You always were selfish with your favorites.” His eyes roam across Michael’s outstretched wings. “But I could never harm Alex. He’s all I have left of our Father….” Gabriel’s voice trails off in thought. His eyes snap back to Michael’s quick as lightning. “ _Oh_ , you always did have a weakness for beauty, little brother! Of _course_ you’d take him for yourself!” Michael’s eyes widen in shock, and Gabriel just leans forward in mirth. “You really love this one, don’t you? You’re practically pink with it!” 

Alex’s eyebrows pop up at the word ‘pink’, and he can barely believe it. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but he’s pretty sure that’s a barb about the new addition to Michael’s wingspan. Michael himself says nothing. He turns so sharply that his leather coat flares around his legs, and drags Alex out of the room. 

If Alex didn’t know better, he’d say Michael was jealous.

———

After the admittedly short chat with Gabriel, Michael had immediately taken Alex to his nest. Night has fallen, and a few hours into their strategizing, Michael is called away to speak in front of an emergency senate. Alex is told to _stay put_ in no uncertain terms. 

So of course, Alex finds himself back in the holding room, peeking at Gabriel’s cage from behind the blast wall. 

Ethan won’t be relieved of his shift for an hour yet, and merely raises an eyebrow at his friend’s behavior before ignoring him completely. Alex watches the confined archangel for several minutes. He’s laying on his back, one knee casually raised, and is so still he seems to emulate the dead. 

“I can sense you lurking, you know.” Gabriel’s rich voice rings through the silence. “Why don’t you come out.”

Alex bites his lip, and looks imploringly to Ethan. His friend rolls his eyes, sighs, and waves him forward. Passing him, Alex whispers that he’ll steal him a bottle of scotch from House Wheele for being an awesome partner in crime. Ethan’s only response is that the scotch had better be old enough to be legal.

As Alex draws near the glass enclosure, Gabriel sits up, and crosses his legs, arms resting on his knees. “So. What brings the Savior to me as such a late hour. All. By. Himself.”

Alex sits in front of Gabriel, mimicking his position. If not for the air holes cut into the barrier, Alex would have been fooled into thinking there was no glass at all. He’s silent for a heartbeat, before he takes the risk. “It was something you said, earlier. When you implied that Michael and I…” Gabriel smirks and his eyebrows twitch upwards. Alex swallows, and continues. “You said he was ‘pink with it’. What did you mean by that?” 

Gabriel stares at him in silence, sizing him up. A cheshire grin stretches across his face. “Did you know that Michael is more than my brother? He is, in fact, my _twin_. We share much of the same abilities, except for one rather large distinction.” Gabriel leans forward, as though preparing to impart a great secret, and Alex copies the movement. His voice is low when he murmurs, “I have a gift that allows me to look upon my fellow angels’ souls.” 

Alex’s heart skips a beat at those words, and he breathes out in a strangled whisper, “You see them, don’t you? The colors of wings?” 

Gabriel’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he tilts his head to side in that strange, avian way that is echoed in Michael’s body language. Alex can definitely believe these two are twins. “How do you… _prove it_.” His voice drops an octave, and his playful demeanor is torn away. “You claim to share this gift with me, then tell me, _Chosen One_ , describe your dear friend Noma’s feathers. If you are lying, I will kill every man woman and child in this pit of human filth you call a city.” 

Alex leans back at the venom lacing Gabriel’s words, and swallows. “Noma is a rainbow. Like a tropical bird, or something. And...Furiad, right? His wings are pure gold.” He hopes like hell that they both see the wings in the same way.

A long moment of silence seems to stretch on, before Gabriel’s expression softens. His shoulders slump into a less dignified pose, and Alex cannot tell what that look means, for the life of him. At long last, Gabriel speaks. “I admit, I don’t quite know what to do with this information. There has never been another, before now.”

Silence again. Alex fidgets with his hands for a bit, before asking a question he’s been dying to know the answer to since he was sixteen years old. “So the colors and patterns on the wings really do represent their character? I’m not crazy or something?”

Gabriel is startled into another chuckle. “Of course you’re not insane. My current working theory is that it’s something of a divine analogue to synesthesia, but you never know with Father.” The archangel shrugs. “He’s rather fond of curve balls, you know.”

Careful to avoid eye contact, Alex puts forth his next query. “Then, the colors can change with the person?” Looks back to Gabriel, who actually grins.

“Yes, Alex. The ridiculous pink feathers at the tips of my brother’s wings mean what you suspect.”

Alex can’t prevent the stupid smile that plasters itself to his face, and drops his eyes to the ground.

“You know, my brother didn’t always have that gradation. There was a time when his feathers were white as the driven snow.” Gabriel’s tone is leading.

Alex meets the archangel’s eyes, curiously. “They must have been a sight to see.”

Gabriel gives a regal nod. “Indeed they were. Of course, this was during his bloody years, when he slaughtered every unlucky human to cross his path.” Noting the confusion on Alex’s face, he explains. “White means ‘purity’, Alex. It doesn’t mean ‘good’. Michael was so certain of his cause, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that he was doing what was _right_. What was _just_.” Alex’s attention is riveted, and he gets the distinct impression that Gabriel actually enjoys teaching. “He never once questioned his actions. I’ve long since learned to be wary of an angel with too many white feathers.” Gabriel leans forward. “Michael can be very changeable, Alex. Keep a close watch on him, just in case. The last thing I want is for you to be harmed in one of his fits of rage.”

And Alex has no idea what to say to that. 

Ethan interrupts their discussion, and holds up his hand, fingers splayed in the universal sign for ‘five more minutes’. Nodding, Alex stands up and straightens his clothing. Gabriel does the same. “You should come to me, Alex. As much as Michael would like to think otherwise, you are meant to learn from _me_. Our shared gift proves this. There is more to it than looking. I swear no harm will befall you.” 

Alex cocks his head to side, and says, “Prove it. Show me your wings.” 

Smirking, Gabriel backs to the center of his cage, and unfurls his wings to their full span. Alex stares, and hesitantly asks, “You...can’t see your own colors. Can you?” 

Gabriel looks at Alex in curiosity. “No, I cannot. What do they look like?”

Alex swallows, and whispers, “White, Gabriel. They’re like snow.” 

———

Gabriel escapes, of course. Neither Alex nor Michael ever thought Vega could hold him for a second longer than Gabriel himself desired. Alex never tells Michael about his conversation with Gabriel. He’s content to shove it to the back of his mind for the moment, though, occasionally, the utter heartbreak in Gabriel’s eyes at the word ‘white’ still sneaks to the forefront of his thoughts. 

Michael is preparing for all-out war against his brother until Noma turns up again. As soon as they see each other, Alex pulls her into a bonecrushing hug, joyful at his friend’s return. Michael is more reserved, but the curve of his eyes betrays his happiness at seeing her safe.

Happiness doesn’t stop Michael from launching into a debriefing, however. “How did you escape from the eyrie? Is there anything you can report about his defences--”

Noma hold up a hand to stop his words. “I didn’t escape, Michael. He let me go, and instructed me to deliver a message to Alex.” She turns to Alex, and withdraws a folded cloth from under her coat. Handing it to him, she continues. “He said to tell you that he can prove it now. Whatever that means.” 

Alex slowly unfolds the cloth, and three feathers are revealed to the room. To Alex’s eyes, they are a light, powdery grey, and a slow smile starts to grow. “Noma, did you see where these feathers came from?”

She nods in the affirmative. “I saw Gabriel pull them from his own wing myself.” 

Michael draws close to him, peering at the feathers over Alex’s shoulder. “Does this mean anything to you, Alex?” 

Alex grins at Michael. “Yeah. It means he’s ready to talk.”


End file.
